


Home is Where The Holmes is

by Johnlockinspiresme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Fix-It, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mary is a Cheater, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mutual Pining, Slight Mystrade if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24219463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockinspiresme/pseuds/Johnlockinspiresme
Summary: John is back home at 221B, a serial killer is on the loose, and the game is on. Sherlock is happier than he's been in years.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 39
Kudos: 97





	1. Just another Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Hey this is my first case fic and nervous doesn't even begin to cover the emotions. I had a wonderful beta though @SherlockWatson_Holmes. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Sherlock returned to 221B and immediately could sense that something was off. He did a quick look over the rooms. John’s shoes by the door, the RAMC mug out on the kitchen table, John’s chair back in the sitting room having been recovered from Sherlock’s bedroom. The sound of the shower running in the background also grabbed Sherlock’s attention. He went over to the bathroom door listening; there was music which meant that whatever John was doing in there (crying or wanking being the two likest options) he didn’t want to be heard. If it was anyone else in the world Sherlock would stay at the door and deduce which, but it was John, so instead he moved away and into the kitchen. He puts another kettle on and tries to clean up his latest experiment as best he can. He is just finishing up with the disinfectant when the bathroom door finally opens and John walks out wearing nothing but a towel. Sherlock feels his jaw drop open; John has never walked around the flat in just a towel. He almost always makes sure that he is fully covered, although that might have more to do with Sherlock keeping the temperature in the flat rather cold so his experiments don’t go bad, than anything else. 

John notices Sherlock as he is rinsing the rag in the sink, “Hey Sherlock, didn’t hear you get in.” Sherlock takes in John’s appearance; his eyes are a little red with dark circles underneath them, there are scratches on his arm, and he seems a little smaller than usual, as if he is trying to take up as little space as possible and oh, that will not do. 

“Hello John, are you well?” Sherlock knows that it is a stupid question to ask but he doesn’t know what else to say and usually a question is safer with John than giving him his deductions, at least the ones that are about John himself. 

“Mary has left with the baby,” John says in a shaky voice, choosing to look at the floor instead of Sherlock’s face. “She’s not mine.” 

Sherlock feels all the blood leave his face, he is shocked and it takes a lot for that to happen. He would have never pegged Mary for a cheater, but he admits he never thought she would shoot him either. John is still staring at the ground and Sherlock can feel a slight pang in his chest that by this point he has come to associate with John, since it only seems to happen when he is around or thinking of him. Sherlock walks over to him and lifts John’s chin up with his hand, he stares into those cobalt blue eyes that are so blinding with their pain that Sherlock feels it all the way to his gut. “What do you need?” Sherlock asks knowing full well that no matter what it is he will make sure that John has it. 

John stares him down for a few moments before answering, “Can I move back in?” 

Sherlock nods, even though he thought that was already established and had meant what John needs emotionally, even though he is not so good at that. “Of course John, this will always be a home for you. You don’t even have to ask. Is there anything else?” 

“A case if you’ve got one on I need the distraction.” John says looking a bit embarrassed, Sherlock suspects because he realizes that he sounds exactly like Sherlock does half the time. “I will phone Lestrade while you get dressed. Angelos for dinner?” John nods looking like he was just given a lifeline. He heads up the stairs to his bedroom and Sherlock waits until he hears the door close before picking up his mobile and dialing Mycroft.

“Hello brother, I need a favor. Look into Mary and see who the hell she cheated on John with and then I want you to enact protocol 5.” 

Mycroft assures him that he will take care of it and hangs up. Then he dials Lestrade, “Sherlock what you got?” 

“That’s funny, that is just what I was about to ask you. Any cases? John is back home and we need something entertaining.” Lestrade sighs at Sherlock being really insensitive but nevertheless tells him of a case he has been working on the last few days. Apparently there is what looks to be a serial killer disposing of people without any connection, or at least one that the police haven’t been able to find yet. “Thanks, Lestrade. Is there a crime scene we can take a look at?” Lestrade gives an address and Sherlock hangs up then dials Angelos. He makes sure that their normal table will be available for them whenever they finish. Sherlock does some research on the serial killer on his laptop while he waits on John. 

It is at least a half hour before Sherlock hears those distinct footsteps on the stairs coming back down. “Hey Sherlock, just curious I seem to be missing a pillow. Do you have it?”

Suddenly Sherlock is incapable of breathing or speaking, the armchair would be something easily explained, it was irrevocably John’s and he probably thought that Sherlock just used it as a stand in for him when he needed to think which while not wrong also isn’t the entire story. He manages to stand up and walk over to the door of his bedroom, he turns his head to look at John who has made his way into the kitchen.

“Yes, I needed more support for my neck, I have had some pain in it lately. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, you can keep it if you like I can always grab another one.” And oh is Sherlock tempted to let him do that, but he doesn’t need to, he has John back and in the flesh now. Sleeping with his pillow because it smells like him while John is in the flat feels a bit creepy. Sherlock walks into his bedroom and grabs the pillow, all but throwing it at John so he’s not tempted to take one last little smell of it. John catches it quite easily giving Sherlock a small smile that just about stops him in his tracks, but Sherlock is determined to act as though everything is normal. He strides into the kitchen, grabbing a travel mug out of the cupboard and setting it on the counter next to John. 

“We have a crime scene to go look at.” John breaks out in an enormous grin. 

“Oh yeah anything good?”

“Oh just some boring serial killer that apparently is causing Lestrade no less than three sleepless nights in a row. You know, just another Tuesday.”

“Sherlock, it’s Wednesday, but you should be ecstatic serial killers are like catnip to you.” Sherlock does give a small smile and says, “I am excited but given everything that you are… wait are you saying that I’m like a cat?” John just chuckles as he puts on his coat, then grabs Sherlock’s and his scarf, handing them over before they are out the door and down the stairs hailing a taxi. 

Lestrade is waiting on the sidewalk when they pull up, and John can tell this case is taking its toll on DI, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. The pure relief on his face when he spots them is enough to make John cut Sherlock off before he can even start demanding things.

“Greg, alright?” John knows he’s not, can see he’s not, but it is more the act of asking it so that Sherlock has a moment to deduce Lestrade’s state and hopefully adjust his harsh tone accordingly. Even though he loves to deny it, John knows that the DI is one of the only people in the world that Sherlock considers a friend and he wouldn’t want to purposely hurt him. 

“John, not really but I expect with you two on the case I am on my way to it.” John can’t help the small shiver of pride going through his body at the words. It has been entirely too long since he has been on a proper case. Sherlock is uncharacteristically silent throughout the entire exchange, he locks eyes with John and nods his head in the direction of the door. John is a bit confused that Sherlock wants him to go first but figures that at this point it’s easier to go along with it. He is just through the door and about to make his way up the stairs where caution tape is stuck all around, that he glances back to see Sherlock still on the sidewalk with Lestrade. Sherlock’s head is bent slightly towards the DI’s and from the body language seems to be comforting him. Lestrade looks at Sherlock with such a miserable expression that John can feel the despair from where he is standing. Eventually it seems that whatever Sherlock said has gotten through because Lestrade walks toward the street where a black town car is already pulling up for him. 

When Sherlock joins him at the bottom of the stairs John doesn’t say a word just quirks an eyebrow instead. 

“He’ll be alright, just some personal issues. I am sure that if you ask, he will tell you.” And John is shocked to say the least. Sherlock is the person who will tell you all your deepest secrets, more than often without any regard to who is around to hear. The fact that he won’t tell John what is wrong with Lestrade when he himself is one of the man’s closest friends is quite honestly mind boggling. However, it is also one of the most endearing things that John has ever seen in his entire life and so he doesn’t push it any further. Instead he ducks under the tape holding it up for Sherlock and walking towards yet another crime scene. 

The scene that awaits them is gruesome to say the least and John was a doctor in the damn army for crying out loud. There is a man lying on the ground, or at least what they assume pieces of a man to be. The killer obviously didn’t do the killing here, since there isn’t even one speck of blood anywhere, Sherlock is sure of it. The whole room is covered in plastic wrap and a thrill is washing over his body because this is someone who is clever. John is kneeling next to the body pieces examining them with a cool mask of indifference on his face that would surely fool anyone but Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock continues to take in the room trying to deduce anything about the location that might be of note. It is a small flat in a vacant townhouse, a place so cheap that only a student or someone with a very limited income would even consider living in it. Still it could hold sentimental value to their suspect so while he waits for John to finish his own deductions, he researches the history of the property on his phone. Apparently it used to be one great big Victorian house, complete with a servants staircase, a small ballroom, and no less than ten bedrooms. But it seems that the family that owned it, had no choice but to sell due to the most recent recession. After that it was bought by a rather small company that remodeled it into small flats. They never really took off however, and the property has been vacant for at least six months. 

“Sherlock,” John says, his voice rasping just a touch, but it’s enough for Sherlock to look up from his phone and give the doctor his full attention. He kneels next to John and waits. 

“So, from what I can tell the time of death was likely around twenty four hours ago, the body was cut up post mortem. It seems our killer left the teeth, which suggests that he wants us to know who his victims are. But the most disturbing bit is that the genitals are missing.”

Sherlock can’t help but be interested in that and he can already feel himself combing through his mind palace for any kind of sacred practices that involve genitals, but a tug at his wrist yanks him back to reality. He knows it’s John cause it would be suicide for anyone else to touch him when he is thinking. He forces himself to bite his tongue against whatever rude outburst was moments away and instead locks his eyes with John’s. 

“There is a bit more too, the heart is also missing. All the other organs are here but they are mashed up to bits and pieces just like everything else.” John looks extremely uncomfortable, so Sherlock quickly examines the body taking photos with his mobile before grabbing John’s hand and pulling him away from the room of horrors.


	2. Molly misses nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say thanks again to my wonderful beta @SherlockWatson_Holmes.

John doesn’t seem able to break himself out of whatever flashback the body on the floor triggered until they are in a cab on their way to Barts. Sherlock would have dropped John back off at 221B but with the recent turn of events he isn’t sure that leaving the doctor on his own right now is the best course of action. Besides, Molly is there. Sherlock will deny this to his dying day, but there is something very calming about her presence. He knows that she will be a comfort to John and Sherlock will be able to get some work done without having to worry about him. At least no more than he usually does, and he makes a mental note to wrap the research up by eight at the latest, so that they can get to Angelo's at a decent time. He knows that his appetite has all but deserted him but it won’t do to worry John about something so trivial on the first day of his return. 

He can’t help but shake his head in disbelief at himself. He never used to care about worrying someone a few years ago - hell he didn’t care about worrying John. But the fall has changed all that, when he saw the effect that his ‘death’ had on John, well it made him realize that he couldn’t just treat his body as transport all the time. He can still remember the chasm of despair that chiseled open that day at the grave when he heard John beg in that broken voice, “Don’t be dead.” That’s the moment Sherlock realized what all those horrific writers were going on about when they said that it’s possible for your heart to break, or at least he thought that is what happened. It wasn’t until he returned and found John with Mary that his heart crumbled apart in his chest. 

The pain at being asked to be the best man at a wedding that felt more like a funeral than his own had been. The speech had sounded more like a love confession than a congratulations and Sherlock knew that at least Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade realized it. The tears they had shed hadn’t just been for the beauty of the speech but also for the tragedy of it. For a heartbreaking second he thought John had seen through it too, with the way he looked at him before pulling him into a hug. It became obvious after they wrapped up the case that John was still oblivious. Learning about the baby, it was simultaneously the worst and best moment of his life. He knew it meant that no matter what, his fantasy of being with John in any way other than friends would never be possible. But, it meant that another Watson would be entering the world and Sherlock knew he would adore the baby just as much as the father. He left shortly after when John was distracted and he could make his exit without drawing any attention. He had moved John’s armchair and pillow into his bedroom that night. He had lain on his bed with John’s pillow over his head, tears spilling over his cheeks like waves. He felt as though he was being strangled and in that moment he wished beyond all hope that the fall had been real. The main reason he had come back was for John, everyone knew that, even Mycroft. The only person who never realized was John and it wasn’t that his intelligence was lacking. It was because that man had been put through hell those two years that Sherlock was ‘dead’ and he didn’t care in the end why Sherlock came back, only that he had. 

Sherlock shakes himself out of these thoughts as they pull up to the front of Barts. John is out of the cab and waiting for him on the pavement with his hands clasped behind his back as he pays the driver. They easily fall into step with each other and Sherlock finds his eyes glancing at John trying to check the other’s mental state without being caught. From what he sees John has calmed down, mostly due to the cab ride he imagines. There is still a slight energy to him that seems antsy, and after seeing that body, Sherlock is also feeling rather ready to solve the case as quickly as possible. If only to spare John another crime scene like today. 

Molly greets them cheerfully and seems to notice that John is a little shaken. She brings them tea without a word and Sherlock even manages a small smile at her. She returns it before going back to the blood work she had been studying when they walked in. John has situated himself in one of the chairs near the coolers, he thankfully had the foresight to bring his laptop with him. Sherlock enjoys watching him for a moment as John sets to typing out a new blog post. 

Sherlock tears himself away before Molly Hooper, who is unfortunately rather perceptive, can catch him at it. He decides to examine some of the smaller bits of flesh, the things he figures to be fingers, in the hope that he will be able to lift a usable fingerprint off it. They are matching the dental records but everyone knows those can take weeks. The rest is just morbid curiosity and he doesn’t think that trying to act out a simulation of what the killer likely did to his victims would comfort John at the moment. Better leave that for a day when John has work and he can get away for a few hours without being missed. 

He manages to get a partial fingerprint and as he lifts it as gently as possible he hopes that this victim has at least been in some sort of trouble, otherwise this will turn into a needle in the haystack. He texts Lestrade to let him know and can’t help but smile at the reply. 

_I’ll send Donovan over to pick it up. Thanks Sherlock. - G.L._

Once Sally takes the fingerprint, Sherlock finds himself itching to move again. John seems to notice and suggest they take a walk. Sherlock agrees, figuring that this might be when John tells him more about what happened with Mary. They keep pace with each other, and they don’t talk for the first seven minutes and twenty three seconds. Sherlock keeps his tongue firmly between his teeth knowing that John will tell him in his own time. 

“His name is Phil.” And oh that’s a bit not good. The fact that all John has to do is say a name with such contempt and resignation in his voice that it alights the special kind of fury in Sherlock that only knows protect John Watson. He is running through all the different ways to get away with the murder when he hears John clear his throat. He looks over and the sight that awaits him almost buckles his knees. John Hamish Watson, a Captain of the Fifth Northumberland is crying and Sherlock is terrified. He puts an arm out in front of John, effectively stopping him. Those blue eyes slowly move up and meet his own. There are oceans of despair in them and Sherlock wishes he could lay waste to anyone and everyone that ever put that look on his best friend’s face. Sherlock finds himself pulling John loosely into his arms. He rests his head atop John’s and breathes in the scent of his shampoo. The body in his arms is stiff, like he is afraid that if he even breathes then Sherlock will withdraw. He lets his right hand begin tracing small circles in the small of John’s back, squeezing just a touch tighter and finally John relaxes into it. Sherlock is aware in the back of his mind that they are having a rather intimate embrace in the middle of the bloody park and that at any moment one of their more extreme fans might take a photo of them that will become viral within twelve hours. He also knows that John only sees this as his best friend offering him some much needed comfort, which is the case, but as they continue to cling onto each other he can feel certain parts of himself waking up and taking notice. The desire that overrules his mind is so swift that Sherlock almost tumbles backward with the force of it.

He pulls back from John sending him a small smile before turning and resuming their walk as though nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. John keeps sneaking glances at him from the corner of his eye and Sherlock would find the confusion on his face amusing if it wasn’t such a heartbreaking thought. John really thinks him so incapable of emotion that hugging his best friend, who just found out that his wife is having another man’s baby, is thought to be ground-shaking. It irritates him but at the same time he can’t even blame John. 

_“I consider myself married to my work.”_

Sherlock Holmes you are a bloody idiot. 

John is having a weird day and if it didn’t feel like a walking nightmare he would assume he’s dreaming. The whole thing with Mary and the baby is of course still weighing heavily on him. But even more worrisome is Sherlock who seems to have been replaced with a rather more emotionally receptive individual. He knows he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth but Sherlock Holmes does not stop in the middle of a park and give his blogger a bloody cuddle. John can feel his cheeks heating up just from the thought of it. They arrive at Angelo’s a short while later and John has the appetite of a small army. Sherlock watches him eat with an expression on his face that John can’t seem to pinpoint but he knows that he has seen it before. 

Angelo already has a table waiting for them, a candle sits in the middle as always. John stopped trying to say that Sherlock isn’t his date because Angelo never listens. 

“But of course you are meant for each other, you mark my words. Don’t screw it up. Mr. Holmes is one of the finest men that I have ever met.”  
Angelo has said this to John so many times that he just gave up and let the man have his own assumptions about them. 

“So what did you figure out?” John asks Sherlock as he lifts pasta to his mouth. 

“Our killer gets off on cutting his victims into little pieces. He kills them before he does it though which hints that he probably doesn’t want the person to suffer. I’ll have to wait until the cause of death is figured out before I can be certain. It’s frustrating being this in the dark, but I can’t deduce this without a whole body. Actually maybe that is part of the reason, the killer is probably aware of our working relationship with the police. They are cutting up the bodies so that I can’t deduce what has happened to them. Great, we are dealing with another genius.” Sherlock groans so loudly that all the patrons sitting near look over at them. John ignores them, his gaze resolutely on Sherlock. 

“I thought you loved the genius ones,” John says with a touch of laughter in his voice. 

Sherlock glares at him until John adopts a more serious expression. “I do but I didn’t want your first case back to be quite so complicated.” John looks at him with surprise in his eyes. They don’t speak for the rest of the meal but Sherlock can feel John’s gaze on him heavy like a physical touch. 

Once they are back at Baker street, Sherlock sits in his chair with his fingers steepling already beginning the slow sink into his mind palace. There is a lot of thinking to do with the case, with John, and just what he intends to do about Mary and Paul. John, already suspecting this for most of the day, puts the kettle on and leaves to take a shower leaving Sherlock to his thoughts.


	3. John's melody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful beta @SherlockWatson_Holmes.

John awakes to the sound of a violin being played so sharply that it must be close to breaking the strings. He throws on his dressing gown and rushes downstairs as quickly as he can. Sherlock stands in front of the window, blue robe hanging limply off one shoulder, practically sawing at his violin. 

“I am not going to the music store for new strings if you break those so perhaps play a little lighter.” John supplies this matter of factly as he makes his way into the kitchen. Sherlock’s playing has stopped completely, his shoulders raised up to his ears as though a sudden tension has filled his body. John turns the kettle on and leans against the kitchen counter watching Sherlock’s back. He stands with the violin hanging on his left side and the bow on the right. He lets out a soft sigh before lifting the instrument backup and starting a piece that John has never heard. 

The music is a haunting melody that is much lighter on the strings than the hammering Sherlock did before, but John almost wishes he would go back to that. This piece feels like glass slipping into his chest and piercing his heart. John can feel something inside his soul trying to rise out of his skin and go to the music. It doesn’t make much sense since he has never been overly invested in music, he can enjoy it but it doesn’t rule his life in any particular way. 

Sherlock felt his entire being seize up when John spoke to him. He hadn’t slept the night before, and of course he exhausted any possible leads for the case that they could spend time following up on today. So for the last two hours he has let his mind wander and as it usually does it settled on John. His mind raced as he went to the wing of his mind palace where John lived and the memories of the wedding were there waiting for him. He is not sure why his mind palace seemed to want him to relive quite easily the most painful day of his life. He sees himself laying the music he composed for the happy couple on the stand before bundling up and slipping out. That is what put him in a darker spell he supposed, because the night before the wedding he had been composing music and had written a song that he knew he would never play. A song that sounds exactly like every single thought and feeling he has ever had for John Watson. So why the hell are his hands playing that song when he knows John is in the room. He would stop if his body still responded to commands but he grinds his teeth and plays it out. The silence that resounds throughout the flat afterwards is deafening. 

John is in shock; Sherlock Holmes the man married to his work just played a song that sounded both like a love confession as well as a heartbreak. He isn’t sure what to do now, Sherlock hates talking about his feelings. At the same time though, they are best friends and he can’t just ignore that he seems to be in the deepest pit of despair. Fuck, if John hadn’t heard him play this song he probably would have never known. Sherlock keeps everything far too close to the vest. John walks over to Sherlock slow as can be in an effort not to spook him. 

John stands next to him gazing out the window for a few moments. His heart is beating out of his chest and he can’t even begin to imagine who in the world could possibly inspire such a love in Sherlock Holmes. 

“Sherlock?” he says and it comes out like a question. 

“John,” Sherlock replied flatly. 

“Who did you write that song for?” Sherlock looks at him incredulously. He has the same look on his face when John does something spectacularly stupid and it is rather annoying. Sherlock doesn’t even try to respond, moving instead to his bedroom and disappearing for a while. John tries not to get aggravated after all he has been living with Mary for a long time and he can admit he hasn’t been a great friend. Maybe something happened while he was off living the domestic life and Sherlock doesn’t want to talk about it. Still there is a slight twinge in his chest when he thinks about the possibility of there being something so big that he doesn’t know about Sherlock. John heaves a heavy sigh of one going off to war before shooting off a quick text to the devil himself. 

_Did Sherlock date someone recently? - J.W. ___

___Dr. Watson. I understand you are back at Baker Street, I am sorry about the circumstances. But I must say that I am rather glad you are there to keep an eye on my little brother again. As for your inquiry, not that I am aware of, but you know how Sherlock is. You never really know what’s going on inside. - M.H. _____

____ _ _

____John resists the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Mycroft is without a doubt the most irritating git to ever live. He knows better than to ask him things and Sherlock will be furious if he finds out. He restarts the kettle since the water has long gone cold and goes upstairs to change in the meantime. Sherlock will emerge soon and then they will be off following leads and chasing bad guys. John allows himself a small smile and even with all the confusion he is still beyond happy to finally be home._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Sherlock leans back against the door of his bedroom trying to quell the rising panic taking over his body. He really thought that by now some of his deductive reasoning had rubbed off on him. He feels as though he basically stripped down naked and screamed that he’s in love with him and John didn’t even notice. Or he did and he didn’t care… but no that’s stupid. John, for whatever reason, truly didn’t think that the song’s about him and that Sherlock must be in love with someone else. For one of the only times in his life he wished there wasn’t a case on, because he could use every bit of time and energy he could get on this problem. It has taken all his courage to play John that song, and he isn’t sure that he can just put himself out there again._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Maybe it’s for the best in the end, John three continents Watson had no reason to love someone like him. John Watson deserves the best the world has to offer and Sherlock knows he’s just about the farthest thing from that. He forces himself to take deep breaths until his heart rate starts to fall back to its normal pace. He dresses slowly, with even more care than he normally would. Every piece he puts on is like another piece of armor to form the impenetrable wall where behind it lay everything that’s a weakness. A chemical defect found on the losing side. The sad thing is that Sherlock isn’t even sure how long he has been losing. It feels like an eternity and the next second it feels as though it’s one blink of the eye. He shudders when he feels the material of his shirt catch on one of the scars that healed jagged. Everyday when he’s alone and he changes or showers he is reminded just how deep his love for John Watson ran._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Sherlock walks out to the living room to see John sitting in his chair. He types furiously on his laptop and when he reaches the end of his thought he looks up at Sherlock and smiles._ _ _ _

____“Sorry, I’m ready to go.”_ _ _ _

____“Surely your blog doesn’t make you that angry.”_ _ _ _

______“Oh no, that’s just Harry emailing me. I love my sister but bloody hell does she get on my nerves.” Sherlock chuckles as they grab their coats and head off.  
*********  
The Yard is a loud and hectic thing when they arrive. Apparently they received a letter overnight and Lestrade isn’t letting anyone touch it until Sherlock has a look. It’s about time the DI learned the proper way to handle an investigation, Sherlock thinks. _ _

____The note of course has no fingerprints, DNA of any kind, and the note itself is letters cut out from magazines and newspapers. Sherlock can’t help a small smile creeping up on his face. The clever ones are just so much fun and this one has a thrill thrumming in his chest. That is until he looks over at John who’s frowning down at his phone as though it has personally offended him. Mary, Sherlock knows it couldn’t be anyone else. Before he knows what he’s doing, before he even realizes that his body has moved, he has John’s phone in his hand and is sliding it into his pocket. John stares up at him with an expression so incredulous that Sherlock is worried it will get stuck there._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Sherlock?” John asks but his tone isn’t angry, just confused._ _ _ _

____“John,” he replies simply because he didn’t need to say anything else. John can tell that this is something Sherlock needs to do for him. To save John Watson from himself. Sherlock still has a lot of guilt over Mary, not seeing what she is far sooner. Allowing John to marry someone so manipulative and who doesn’t understand the pure gift of having John Watson love you. Sherlock knows that they will need to discuss Mary at some point. They will have to discuss the finer details of what has driven John to come back home, but not now. There will be time to do that after the case. Now they have a serial killer to find and the game is on._ _ _ _

____John sits in one of the chairs opposite Lestrade's desk as Sherlock looks at the note every which way. He will hold it up to the light and then cover it with both hands. He looks at it from every angle possible and maybe even sniffs it. John doesn’t even want to know what he could possibly hope that will uncover. He feels his hand itching for his phone, usually he would be typing up notes on it, documenting all the weird things Sherlock does before they run off on the next lead. But his mobile still lays in Sherlock’s pocket and he knows he could ask for it back. Sherlock will probably give it to him as long as he sticks to his notes and doesn’t make whatever face he pulled earlier that made Sherlock take it away in the first place. John feels himself slightly blush at the memory of Sherlock taking his phone like he has every single right in the world to do so, and maybe he does. At the end of the day, in his very strange way, Sherlock is the only person he knows that truly has his best interests at heart. His ‘suicide’ notwithstanding. John had been shocked because he felt so attracted to Sherlock in that moment and if they had been in 221B instead of the middle of Scotland Yard, he might have actually done something about it. Instead all he could do was let his phone be taken and try to get his emotions under control. He knows that somewhere he should be stewing over this, that he really feels something for his best friend in the world. But having feelings for Sherlock isn’t really anything new. He has been half in love with Sherlock from, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”. To pretend any different would cheapen their connection. What he should really be stewing over is the fact that Sherlock doesn’t really do relationships besides being married to his work. In a way it will almost be unfair to Sherlock for him to say anything, he might end up ruining their friendship. He has known from day one that Sherlock Holmes is not interested and he will never do anything to jeopardize what they have._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“John,” Sherlock says, his hand resting lightly on the back of his neck. John has slumped forward at some point and put his head in his hands, leaving his neck in full view. John doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move a muscle. The warmth of that hand on his neck, the buzzing sensation where the palm meets his skin. He feels as though an electric shock is passing through his body in the best possible way._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Yeah.” He finally forces himself to say, but he still hasn’t moved and neither has that hand. Interesting._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“We need to go, I want to check out the nearby newsstands. It might just be a dead end but our killer is arrogant. Maybe he used one nearby to rub our faces in it, so to speak.” The hand squeezes his neck gently and it takes all the willpower John possesses not to groan. “Are you alright?” Sherlock asks, just a hint of worry in his voice._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____John finally forces himself to straighten up and look Sherlock in the eye. He looks different than normal. There’s actual color in his cheeks for one, something that never happens unless Mycroft severely pisses him off. His eyes seem brighter than usual, and he seems to be shuffling from foot to foot. He’s nervous John realizes and it seems so insane that he lets out a giggle. Sherlock looks at him sharply and John can almost see him running through likelihoods that John’s losing his mind. He stands up and stretches for a moment tracking the way that Sherlock’s eyes fall to his midriff where his jumper has ridden up just a bit showing a sliver of skin. John feels a smile spread across his face and while he would love to call Sherlock on it, he knows that would be a bit not good. There are a lot of people around here and John has it on good authority that there’s a betting pool on when they will finally end up together. He has no patience for people who take that much stock in other’s business. He puts his coat on and says, “Lead the way.” Sherlock does, and he follows._ _ _ _


	4. Cheekbones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love and appreciation for my beta @SherlockWatson_Holmes.

They are at their fourth newsstand and John wants nothing more than to sit in his chair at 221B and drink a cuppa. Sherlock even seems to be lagging a bit but he figures that is due to frustration more than anything else. 

“Nothing suspicious?” Sherlock asks for what feels like the tenth time. 

“Sir, it’s London, almost everything seems suspicious in one way or another.” Sherlock can’t even argue with him because it’s true. The city calls out to him because there always seems to be something seedy happening. Sherlock gives him his card and tells him to keep a look out just in case. John shakes himself a little bit, he feels like he has been falling asleep standing up. Ridiculous, they have only been out for a few hours. Hell they used to stay up for twenty four hours if a case was particularly grueling. John can’t believe he already feels himself flagging and he just knew Sherlock would be able to tell when he turned around to face him. 

“John,” Sherlock says and the undercurrent of urgency there feels like a jolt of adrenaline straight into his veins. He has never felt more awake. John follows his gaze without even asking what he’s looking for because he already has an idea. Sure enough, a little way down the road is a convenience store, and in the front window there is a whole shelf of magazines. There’s a man standing browsing through them, which wouldn’t normally be a call for alarm except for the fact that he has scissors in his back pocket and seems to be watching them. John doesn’t even need Sherlock to say anything before they start running. The man has already fled through the back door, but John isn’t worried, not with a living breathing road map running in front of him. 

It takes them three streets to catch up with him; Sherlock has the man on the ground pinned beneath his body when John, who had a problem getting past a rather large lady with a pram, comes running up. 

Sherlock can feel the man beneath him shaking slightly and he’s rather annoyed to find out that the cause is laughter. Sherlock, who of course doesn’t have a grasp on emotions at the best of times, has no idea what could be funny in this situation. He pulls a zip tie out of his back pocket and binds the man’s hands together before rising to his feet bringing the guy with him. They come face to face with a rather young man only in his mid twenties. Sherlock feels the urge to yell, this isn’t their killer. 

“Who hired you?” Sherlock asks not wanting to waste any more time on this idiot than they already have. The guy pushes blonde hair - bleached in his sisters sink obviously - out of his eyes and has the fucking gall to leer at Sherlock. 

“I don’t know handsome, but if you need me to do some things for you… well let’s just say I wouldn’t charge.” Sherlock wants to laugh, or scream, honestly at this point either seems to be a strong possibility. He can feel the temptation to look over at John and gauge his reaction, but knowing that it probably would just be mild irritation he holds back. 

“Not interested. What I am interested in is who hired you to watch us and have us chase you.”

“Sorry, not much to tell. It all happened over the phone. There was an ad in the paper for an odd job, the pay was high and the job too easy to pass up. I just called the number and set it up. I never got the guys name or anything.”

“How did he pay you?”

“Paypal, pretty much anything like this is using it nowadays.”

“Can I see the email that sent you the money?”

“Why?”

“Because this guy might be a serial killer who has already left three bodies behind and if you don’t want to be the fourth then I suggest…” The guy already has his phone out, navigating to the app. Once he finds what he’s looking for he hands it over to Sherlock. 

“Feel free to put your number in there as well, cheekbones.” Sherlock rolls his eyes but he does notice that the color has drained a bit from the guy’s cheeks and he does seem genuinely freaked out. He isn’t bad looking and Sherlock hasn’t been with someone in… well if he can’t even remember then maybe it was time to… Oh, John looks as though he’s point two seconds away from shooting the poor guy. The look on his face is like Captain Watson except harder, almost as if he has gone rogue and only the presence of other people is keeping him in check. Sherlock feels, for one of the first times, truly afraid of John Watson, but even that can’t keep the low thrum of arousal at bay. Hmm. John’s behavior resembles a jealous lover far more than just a concerned best friend. Sherlock knows they need to be focusing on the case and he curses himself inside his head even as he hands the phone back and takes a closer step towards John. He puts an arm around him casually but lets his hand rest on the back of his neck like earlier. He smiles softly at John before looking back at the guy, “Thanks but I think I’m good.” 

“Yeah I would say so.” And then he walks away. Sherlock moves his arm as soon as he turns a corner. John doesn’t have his jealous murderous expression on anymore, just a quiet question that Sherlock wants to answer but his phone rings, Lestrade showing up on the caller ID. Sherlock doesn’t really need to answer because he already knows there’s another body. 

“Where?” He asks.

“Corner of Newbury and Cloth.” Sherlock hangs up without even saying goodbye. He has his arm out already hailing a taxi and belatedly he notices that his other hand grips the edge of John’s sleeve as though he’s a misbehaving toddler that has to be led around. He looks down at his sleeve with an amused grin on his face. He lifts his head and when their eyes meet Sherlock can feel something crackle between them. He finds himself on the verge of saying something, anything, but thankfully the cab pulls up just then and he pulls John in after him, as though he wouldn’t come otherwise. 

The body is in pieces again and that isn’t a surprise, they have been expecting it as part of the killer’s MO. What scares them is the fact that there’s a little boy sitting in the corner of the room rocking slightly and screaming at anyone who tries to come near. Sherlock seems to be at a loss seeing a kid there. John isn’t doing much better but still someone has to get through to him. John slowly moves towards the boy, his eyes are tracking John and he worries that he will start screaming again. He doesn’t though and he lets himself breathe a sigh of relief when he is finally kneeling in front of him.

“Hey there, I’m John. What’s your name?” The boy is watching John carefully and if he didn’t know better he would call the look on his face calculating. He seems to finally find whatever it is that he’s looking for. 

“I’m Charlie.”

“Hi Charlie, can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know, there were cartoons and cereal just like any other morning but then I must have fallen asleep cause when I woke up…” He trails off a rush of tears spilling down his rosy cheeks, sobs beginning to escape. John pulls the boy into his arms wishing he could do something more. Once the sobs have subsided he pulls away and asks Charlie who was with him before he fell back asleep.

“My mum, I don’t know where she is now though, do you, John?” John feels his heart sink to his stomach and there is nothing he can think of to say. This boy isn’t older than seven and how in the world is John supposed to tell him that his Mum is dead and never going to put cartoons on for him again. 

“I am not entirely sure Charlie. We need to investigate some things here to figure that out. But I have a friend named Sally and she would love it if you could keep her company until your dad gets here. Do you think you could do that for me?”

“Okay,” and he looks so heartbroken in that moment that John gives him another quick hug before having Sally come and take the boy downstairs. He runs his fingers through his hair pulling at the very little bit of length he has and groaning in frustration. Sherlock has been watching him in that hyper focused way he does whenever he finds John particularly fascinating. 

“You know you are really good with mini humans. Lestrade said that boy nearly bit him when he tried.”

“I think you mean children, Sherlock.”

“Hmm quite, well now that is taken care of maybe you would like to examine the body.”

“What’s the point? You must have already figured out everything possible about it, while I was talking to Charlie.”

“John come now, you know that I depend on your input after all you are the doctor.”

“Yes alright, is it as bad as the last one?” John asks with a wince because the last thing he needs is for Sherlock to say he is losing his nerve. Or worse to start going out without him in an attempt to help. 

“No, not as bad but still rather unsettling. I imagine the killer went a little easier due to the fact that this victim is a woman. Which means he is probably close to his mother. Also he has to have some kind of a moral compass to leave Charlie unharmed.” John just nods as the flow of Sherlock spouting deductions washes over him and it steels his nerves. He lifts the sheet off completely in one go like ripping off a band-aid. 

His breath catches in his throat, because while the body is in pieces the killer left the head this time intact. Now this isn’t John’s first time seeing a severed head: one in the army and the other when Sherlock kept one in the fridge at Baker Street. It’s just the image of seeing it with all the body parts that used to make it a person smashed to bits, well it is doing hell on his stomach. John makes some mental notes and when he turns to Sherlock to tell him he freezes. Sherlock is as white as a sheet, and that is when John realizes that he hadn’t been deducing the body earlier. No, he watched every second of John’s interactions with Charlie. Now, Sherlock seems distraught at the gruesome body and John doesn’t know what to do with this information. Does it really make so much difference that the victim is a woman this time, that the head is there with all the blonde hair still attached? Or could it be that Sherlock feels guilty because the son is downstairs thinking that they will find his mother whole and bring her back to him. 

“Sherlock, come on let’s go,” John says it as he stands and holds out a hand to help him up. Sherlock goes without an argument, he feels like a limp doll allowing John to pull him away. He only comes alive again once they are outside and sees Charlie sitting on the hood of a cop car, Sally sitting beside him and talking about something. Sherlock makes for them and he moves too fast for John to grab him. 

“Hi Charlie, I’m Sherlock you met my friend John earlier.”

“Yes I remember.”

“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself and see if there’s anything you need.”

“I just want my Mum,” Charlie says, his bottom lip starting to quiver again. Sherlock puts his hands over the boys and squeezes. 

“I know just how you feel. Here this has my number on it, you give this to your dad and if either of you need anything you call me okay?”

Charlie doesn’t answer instead he just slides off the car and wraps his arms around Sherlock’s middle. Everyone around seems to be holding their breath collectively. Sherlock drops to his knees and envelopes the boy in a tight hug. 

“It will be okay Charlie. No matter what, you will get through this.” 

Sherlock breaks away from the boy but they don’t leave until the boy’s father shows up. He looks frantic as though he ran five miles just to get here. Hell, maybe he did. Charlie’s face lights up when he sees him and the two hug for what seems an entirety. Once Charlie and his dad are just a spec in the distance, Sherlock finally looks at John. 

“I want to catch this bastard.” John just nods, he couldn’t agree more.


	5. The Files

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the first one I found really difficult. So thank you to my beta from keeping me from losing my mind @SherlockWatson_Holmes

They end up at a Chinese restaurant a few minutes away from Baker Street. Sherlock, of course, isn’t eating but he knows that John requires regular food breaks otherwise he is completely useless. Well, that might be putting it a bit harshly, but still he needs John at his best and he can think here as well as anywhere else. 

John has thankfully not asked Sherlock about his conversation with Charlie but he knows that he wants to. It is written all over his face, in the pinch between his eyebrows and the way that he stares at Sherlock even as he continues to eat his fried rice. Sherlock doesn’t necessarily want to talk about it as he finds bringing up the past tedious and unimportant, but this is John and he will not let it rest for long. In a way it will make it easier if he just tells him without being asked since John will be less likely to push him if he is offering up the information voluntarily. He takes a deep breath and forces his leg to stop it’s incessant shaking under the table. 

“John, as you know my childhood was far from a pleasant one and there are certain things that I have kept to myself mainly because I don’t like to speak of them. Around the age of five my mother went missing for a few days. My family is quite wealthy and while she is nowhere near Mycroft's or my own intelligence she is still far above average. She was taken by a company who was let’s say displeased with the research she was working on. She was attempting to find something to replace fossil fuels so that we can give up using them and hopefully start to heal mother earth. Oh yes mummy Holmes is a tree hugger. You can imagine her horror when I said that I was moving to London. She didn’t speak to me for a week. Anyway, the people who took her were in charge of a large oil company and if her research succeeded they would go bankrupt. It took Mycroft only a couple of days to find her but I remember the pure terror in his eyes. I think that is what scared me far more than anything else. That is why I could relate to Charlie, if only his mother was still alive and could be recovered. When he finds out that she isn’t coming home he might need a friend. Maybe I will be able to help.”

John takes all of this in, with that awareness he gets when Sherlock is being brilliant, but there is one thing wrong: John has tears in his eyes.  
“I am so sorry Sherlock,” John manages to say without letting his voice break. Sherlock tilts his head the way he does when he knows he is missing a particular social cue. 

“What for, John?”

“That you had to go through that. And that there isn’t more we can do for Charlie.” Sherlock just nods. He knows that John is doing one of those 'showing empathy' things, but it’s annoying and he wishes they could just get back to the case. 

They leave soon after and it takes everything in John not to suggest they go back home. There is a burning fear inside his chest and a tightness in his throat that promises to strangle any words he might try to say. Sherlock hails them a cab and John has no idea where they are headed. He thought Barts but it seems as though Sherlock has some kind of a lead. If he isn’t sharing it with John that means he wants to make sure it’s real before telling him about it. John tries not to let it bother him but there is still an old hurt in his chest from the last time Sherlock didn’t tell him something big. 

John feels a hand urging his own to wrap around Sherlock’s wrist, leaving John’s fingers to press down on the pulse point. John feels all the air catch in his chest, obviously Sherlock had figured out that John checked his pulse a bit more than normal. But he didn’t think he could also see when John was moments from a panic attack and the only thing to stave it off… John peeks at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, as if his furtiveness will somehow keep the detective from noticing. He didn’t have to worry, Sherlock’s entire body seems focused on the world outside the window. 

Sherlock is cursing himself loudly and repeatedly at least in his own mind. He knows that while, yes he did just keep John from having a panic attack, he has in a way shown his hand. Sherlock isn’t supposed to know about the panic attacks, about the figure that appears in his rooms on the few nights that he does try to sleep, or the fact that John Watson still wakes up screaming his name as though the fall is happening all over again. Of course he knows though he is Sherlock bloody Holmes and it’s not like John is particularly subtle about it. He has, quite literally, stopped speaking mid sentence just to feel for Sherlock’s pulse. Maybe John thinks him so inadequate at sentiment that he will think John is just being a conscientious doctor/friend. Sherlock is so frustrated with the whole damn thing that he almost wants to call off the rest of the day. However, Charlie’s face swims before his eyes and he forces himself to block out everything that isn’t about the case. He will have plenty of time for their personal issues after the work is over. 

John is confused as he follows Sherlock up the steps to Scotland Yard.

“Sherlock, what are we doing here?”

“We need to look at some old files. In fact it might be more comfortable if we just have Lestrade take us back to Baker Street with some boxes. It might be a long night.” John resists the urge to groan out loud because he feels like this is just a repeat of the millions of crates of books. However, when they get inside and Sherlock actually speaks to Lestrade about the records he wants there are only five crates to sort through. They grab Thai on their way home and eventually John is sitting in his chair eating Tom Kha Kai. Sherlock is pacing the floor tugging at his hair and John knows that whatever he’s about to say must be upsetting or at least Sherlock thinks it will upset John. 

“Sherlock, come on I don’t actually want this to take all night so please just tell me.” Sherlock finally stops and stares at him for a long while. John is so used to it that it isn’t even uncomfortable anymore. 

“Alright. Well I don’t have a lot other than my own instincts to go on, but I think that I have found the connection between our victims.” 

“That’s great Sherlock. What is it?” 

Sherlock worries his lip between his teeth before he answers, “They have all committed sexual abuse towards a child.” John is so silent that if Sherlock didn’t know any better he might think that he had gone into shock. 

“What the bloody hell, Sherlock? So wait, our serial killer is killing off child abusers. I still want to arrest him but I might just shake his hand first. How in the world did you figure that out?”

“The missing genitals were a bit of a tip off, in certain parts of the world child abusers have their genitals cut off as punishment. The fact that our killer waits until the victim is dead means that they have some kind of a moral compass, though he does cut up their bodies and derives satisfaction from the act. It takes a lot of patience and motivation to do that, so I had to conclude that whatever the victim had done it had to be heinous.”

“Brilliant. I guess that is what we are looking for in the files. The arrest records from our victims.”

“Yes, but that’s not all. The two crates by the couch are even older files. I have put our suspect’s age around 25-30. I am betting that he is a past victim of sexual abuse and we might be able to find his identity in those files.”

“Yes, Sherlock, but how in the hell will we know it’s him?”

“Because he messed up letting Charlie live. We now have a witness who might be able to identify our killer.” John knows that Sherlock is right but something twitches in his gut at the thought of making Charlie look through photos for his mother’s killer. 

“I know it’s not ideal but it is our best shot and I'm sure Charlie will want to do what he can to put away the man that killed his mother.”

“Right, well let’s get to it then.” John finishes his food and pulls the nearest crate to him. Sherlock is already plowing through the files looking for the killer. 

It is hours before they come across anything worth talking about. 

“Hey Sherlock come...” He is standing next to John before he can even finish the sentence.  


_Ian Montengue, arrested on November ninth, 2009. The suspect was apprehended after police received a distress call from Sandy Montague claiming her brother had been sexually assaulting her daughter. She had noticed while giving her a bath that the child’s genitals were red and irritated. Ian had been watching the child for a number of weeks while Sandy worked. Sandy has filed a restraining order and Ian is being held without bail._

____

____

Sherlock puts his hand on John’s shoulder and squeezes while still reading the rest of the file. He does it almost unconsciously just wanting to offer some support in the horror of what they have to look at. Sherlock sends the name of the uncle to Lestrade asking if it matches the first victim’s name. 

____

_Yes, Ian Montague. - G.L. ___

____

__Sherlock and John redouble their efforts but it still takes another few hours before John finds another file. Sherlock sees the mugshot and the resemblances to Charlie are obvious. He feels a cold dread creeping over his body at the thought of anyone hurting the mop of curls and rosy cheeked boy. Had his mother been… well there is only one way to find out._ _

____

__A seventeen year old boy accused his tutor of harassment._ _

____

__“Isn’t sixteen the age of consent?” John asks completely confused with how this can possibly fit the pattern._ _

____

__“Hmm… well technically since she is a tutor that puts her in a ‘teacher’ role and therefore the age of consent has no real bearing, she would still be breaking the law by abusing her position of trust. Also looks as though they made some movies together that were leaked.”_ _

____

__“By her?” John asks, disgusted._ _

____

__“No, it seems as though it was a friend of the boy but she ended up in trouble since she was 19 at the time and therefore the adult. Let me double check with Lestrade before we continue speculating.”_ _

____

__Sherlock is already sure that the woman is Charlie’s mother but John likes having things confirmed and so he shoots off a message to Lestrade. Sherlock still feels pure relief when Lestrade confirms and he knows that Charlie is okay, has been okay this entire time. What his mother did still wasn’t right, but compared to the other horrors they had to see today it seems a rather mute point._ _

____

__“I think our killer isn’t looking at any kind of police file because if he knew the particulars I doubt he would have killed Karen. He must be… Oh.”_ _

____

__“What is it Sherlock?” Sherlock doesn’t answer John instead he is typing furiously on his phone._ _

____

__“Ah, our killer is using the registered sex offerenders list to pick his victims.”_ _

____

__“Damm, well he must be going in some kind of pattern down the list.”_ _

____

__“Obviously, but it can’t be alphabetical or Karen Abcott would have been killed before Ian Montague. We need more data, keep looking.” They work well into the night. Sherlock has turned up a couple of potential suspects but he seems doubtful that the answer will be in there. Still it’s a better chance than they had before. John is exhausted and he is all but happy to go collapse in his bed until Sherlock gets bored enough to drag him out._ _

____


	6. Bathroom Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, in case you haven't heard yet, last week a Black man named George Floyd was murdered by a cop. I am leaving a link to resources filled with petitions, donations, and other things that you can do to help insure that something like this never happens again. I know A03 is probably an escape for you like it is for me from the horrors of the real world. But I have to say something and we need to unite together on this if we ever want to live in a world that is truly Free and Just for all who live in it. Black lives matter. https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#
> 
> Once again my undying gradtitude to my wonderful beta @SherlockWaston_Holmes

Sherlock is pacing the living room floor at three a.m. He keeps walking to the bottom of the stairs and he even gets as far as putting his foot on the first step before he shakes his head and moves away. It is far too early to wake John up and there is nothing case related they can really do until the world wakes up again. His mind helpfully supplies him with an image of John tangled in his sheets; bare chested and his carefully styled hair mussed and sticking out every direction. Sherlock groans and wishes he could scrub out the image, but it stubbornly remains in front of him like a floating hologram. 

He stops his pacing and drops his head into his hands, and he knows that all these feelings are going to become so intolerable that even John will be able to look at him and deduce what’s going through his mind. Which wouldn’t be so bad if Sherlock wasn’t ninety-nine percent certain that John is if not straight at least bisexual with such denial that he might as well be straight. He knows that John finds him attractive, it’s obvious in the way that John looks at him and it’s the reason why most people assume they are together. The only person who doesn’t seem to realize it is John, or at least his conscious self is unaware. 

He presses his fingers into his temples with a force almost hard enough to hurt. He is starting to get a headache and the last thing he needs right now is something else to keep him from focusing on the work. And there it is again the reason why he never allowed whatever had almost happened that first night between him and John. The damn work. Oh Sherlock loves it, always has and always will. But at the moment he wishes vehemently that the work could move to another plane existence. Just until he figures out what to do about John, because at the rate they are going one of them is going to end up against a wall. Whether they're being kissed or hit by the other, well that depends on everything else.

John wakes up when the sunlight hits his pillow. He blinks and glances around in confusion fully expecting to see Sherlock leaning against the door frame waiting for him. John’s alone though and he groans as he stretches. Once he makes it out of bed, he tries to rush through his morning routine as quickly as he can, he doesn’t know if his urgency to see Sherlock is due to fear or the rather interesting dream he had about him the night before. He doesn’t even let himself indulge the after effects of the dream, he just wants to see Sherlock. He makes it downstairs and he barely even has to glance around to realise that Sherlock isn’t in the flat. He makes his way over to the kettle and spots a note on the counter. 

_I went to Barts early this morning and didn’t want to wake you. Come meet me when you get up. S.H. ___

__

__John can’t help but smile; before the fall Sherlock would have never bothered leaving a note. He’d rather just dash off without a word or concern for anyone else. John likes that he cares enough to take the extra minute and let John know where he will be. He makes a cuppa and throws it into a travel mug before making his way to Barts._ _

__

__Sherlock has been cutting up a body for five hours by the time John arrives. He has already instructed Molly to send him a text and stall him so that he can get cleaned up. He isn’t sure if he will tell John exactly what research he has been doing. John didn’t really mind when he had taken a riding crop to a corpse, but he thinks this is probably quite a bit worse. Even if the only reason he is doing it is to try and figure out more about the killer. He hears his phone ping and he doesn’t even bother checking it, just slipping out the door to the bathroom. The bathroom where John is currently washing his hands at the sink. He’s wearing a ghost of a smile that is fading faster and faster as he takes in Sherlock’s appearance. Sherlock’s back hits the wall before he can even take in what has happened. John is at his front pulling his shirt open so roughly some of the buttons break off and fall to the floor._ _

__

__“John?” Sherlock asks his voice rough with confusion and a hint of desire. John however isn’t paying attention to his voice, he is running his hands all over Sherlock’s chest checking for injuries. Of course, with the amount of blood on his shirt that would be the first thing that John would think. Sherlock grabs John’s hands with his own and waits until he finally looks at him._ _

__

__“I am fine, John. I was doing some research for the case. The blood isn’t mine, and isn’t anyone's who is alive to miss it.” John is still breathing rather hard but the tension he’s carrying in his body seems to relax at the words._ _

__

__“Right, course,” John barely gets the words out, the adrenaline is just leaving his body and he is now only realizing that he is just a few inches from Sherlock, who’s shirt is still wide open and his chest is right fucking there. John needs to leave, let Sherlock clean up… anything... just get himself the fuck out of dodge. Sherlock though is so fucking captivating and it feels impossible to pull himself away, especially when he looks up and sees a slight pink tinge gracing Sherlock’s cheeks. John hesitantly moves his hands out of Sherlock’s grip, and reaches out again. Sherlock is watching the entire thing and John is almost sure that he is holding his breath. He knows this is a moment that will change everything and there really isn’t any way they can go back afterwards. John doesn’t care, all he wants in this moment is Sherlock as close as he can get him. Sherlock leans in trying to get to John faster. They are so close they are sharing the same air. Suddenly there is a loud knock at the door and Molly’s voice calls to them, “John, Sherlock, are you in there?”_ _

__

__Sherlock hates Molly Hooper more than he’s hated anyone in his entire life, well maybe not more than Mary, but still. Her timing is abysmal and John looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. That thought is almost amusing but Sherlock is so disappointed he can’t even crack a smile._ _

__

__John is just as frustrated but in a way there is a part of himself that feels relieved. They almost crossed a line and while John still wants to, he knows that in a men’s room at Bart’s hospital isn’t the place for it. He needs them somewhere they can both properly relax, put their guards down, and put all the cards on the table. John isn’t sure what is going through Sherlock’s head right now and he’d rather make sure they are on the same page before they tumble over that edge._ _

__

__John follows Molly back to the lab while Sherlock stays behind to try and make himself as presentable as possible with half his shirt buttons missing. Molly attempts to make small talk but John’s heart is just not in it. Alas, it resides with a certain sharp cheekbone consulting detective. John replays the moment he let himself just go with what he wanted. The absolute freedom he felt knowing that he wants Sherlock Holmes and fuck for a moment it really seemed like Sherlock felt the same._ _

__

__“Molly, what have you come up with so far?” Sherlock asks as he walks in, somehow he has found little safety pins to replace his missing buttons and John’s mouth's as dry as a desert. Sherlock always wears ridiculously tight shirts but with the pins it seems as though his shirt has shrunk at least two sizes._ _

__

__“Well as far as I can tell from your notes it seems as though the killer lingers longer over each piece of the body that he cuts off. You went through it methodically, like a doctor performing an autopsy would.” That rang true in Sherlock’s mind, Molly surprisingly is beginning to show an aptitude for deduction. That might be why Sherlock couldn’t stand her half the time, it was like looking in a fun house mirror. That, and the fact that her timing had cost him what he really was beginning to think of as his first kiss with John. He swears the taste of him is on the tip of his tongue and it takes every single ounce of willpower he has to keep himself from dragging John off to the nearest dark corner._ _

__

__Lestrade walks through the door and Sherlock rolls his eyes at the ridiculously pleased expression on his face. Obviously the detective had a very good night and Sherlock really REALLY doesn’t want to know about it._ _

__“Alright Greg?” John asks but the smile on his face conveys that he already knows the answer._ _

__“Absolutely mate, you alright?” He shoots a sideways glance at Sherlock when he asks and it’s so fucking annoying Sherlock wants to just bang his head against the wall, or shoot cocaine into his veins until he can no longer see._ _

__“Anything we can help you with?” Sherlock asks, knowing this will get the DI out of their hair the fastest._ _

__“Figured I would stop by and see what you have.”_ _

__“Well, we discovered the pattern between the victims, they are all registered sex offenders, and it seems as though our killer has taken it upon themselves to rid the world of those that prey on children. It also appears they are gathering their information solely from the sex offenders list. I don’t believe this killer would have followed through on Karen if they had known the particulars of that case.”_ _

__

__“Alright, is there any particular way he is going through the list? Something that will tell us who he might target next?”_ _

__“I am working on it,” Sherlock says. Lestrade knows not to ask any more when he sees the red rimming the corners of Sherlock's eyes._ _

__John can’t help but notice that the DI, who seemed almost in shambles a couple of days ago, is now as bright eyed and bushy tailed as a teenage girl.  
“You and the wife talking again Greg?” John asks. It’s a shot in the dark, but hell he wants to know, and apparently no one will tell him unless he asks. Greg honest to god blushes and John is almost sure that the pink tinge covers the DI’s entire body with the force of it. _ _

__“Um, no. I’m seeing someone new and... well it’s new… don’t wanna jinx it by talking about it.”_ _

__“Right, makes sense,” John replies, noticing Lestrade said someone instead of her, and the fact that Sherlock seems to know more about the person than he is letting on. He stops himself before he can draw any final conclusions, having a feeling in the pit of his stomach that if he figures it out, he will spend the entire day over the toilet. They let the subject drop after that and Sherlock tells Lestrade most of what they uncovered but still keeps a few things to himself, as usual._ _

__

__“Alright, well text if you find anything else, and Sherlock?” Lestrade inquires giving Sherlock a hard look._ _

__“Yes?”_ _

__“Don’t get into unnecessary trouble.” Sherlock just rolls his eyes while he waits for Lestrade to disappear from view and then he turns to John with a slight evil smile on his face._ _

__“Have you figured out the mysterious new lover?” He asks with such a smug smile John wishes he could find out what it tastes like._ _

__“Probably, but I am going to be in denial about it at least until this case is over.” Sherlock grins at him in that feral cat way that he has._ _

__“Yes, that is probably for the best. Let’s run back to Baker Street, I can't chase killers around London like this.” He says as he gestures at his appearance. John just nods without looking too closely at Sherlock, not wanting a repeat of earlier. He shoots off a quick text to Lestrade and Sherlock can feel the shivers running all through his body. The way John looks at him is awakening something in him that long laid dormant._ _

“Come on, John. We need to go talk to an emotional traumatized boy.” _Charlie, I am so sorry in advance. ___


	7. Not just the War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again my beta is incredible :) @SherlockWatson_Holmes.

John stays in the cab while Sherlock runs inside to change shirts. He really doesn’t think he would be able to keep his hands to himself otherwise as he is still a bit keyed up. All he can think about is the look on Sherlock’s face when he reached out for him. John has been with many people, and yet not one of them has ever looked at him like Sherlock did. The mix of pure terror of the unknown, but also a desire so deep and vast that it could fill the ocean. He’s resting his head against the window of the cab, his fingers touching lightly on his mouth, and his eyes are closed. He wishes this case would end. 

Sherlock only took a couple of seconds to throw on a new shirt but he is frustratingly scared to go back out to the cab and face John. The tension between them is so palpable that Sherlock knows their cab driver has been keeping a wary eye on them just waiting for them to jump each other. Poor bastard is probably confused as hell that John is still outside. Sherlock knows he has been gone too long and John is bound to be suspicious so he forces himself to the kitchen to make John another cuppa to go. It will at least explain the time he has been in here and maybe even make John smile. 

****  
Charlie is strangely calm when they meet with him. He crosses his legs and folds his hands neatly on his knees before staring at them both in a way that looks far too grown up on a face so young. 

“My mother is dead isn’t she?” The question is asked so matter of factly that John feels his eyes welling up just to hear it. Charlie looks to be the picture of perfect poise but after a moment of observing, he can tell the boy’s legs are shaking. He is trying so hard to be taken seriously and in a way John can almost see a young Sherlock in the boy’s face. The thought makes his chest hurt and he’s glad that he isn’t expected to speak right now because he is almost sure all that would come out is a sob. 

Sherlock seems to freeze for a minute before he responds, “Yes, Charlie. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you the truth, but I didn’t want to add to your stress that day.”

“I know, I guess that is what happens when you break down in a corner and scream like an animal at everyone who tries to help you.”

“That isn’t your fault, you saw something awful that day and your mind was trying to protect you from it. We need your help Charlie, we are trying to find the man who killed your mother.” Sherlock pauses letting the boy process that and John can’t help but marvel at the patience that Sherlock exhibits sometimes. This is the same man who will shoot the wall up at the flat just because he’s bored, and yet here he is. 

“How can I help?” Charlie finally asks after a few minutes and John is impressed at the determination in the boy’s face and the way his voice barely shakes. Sherlock grabs the papers out of John’s laptop bag and passes them over to him. 

“I just need you to look at those and let me know if anyone in the pictures looks familiar. Take all the time you need alright?” Charlie nods and gives his full attention to the task. Sherlock steeples his fingers and focuses his entire mind on any cues Charlie might exhibit to the files. John feels hopeful, for the first time since the bloody case started, that they might finally get a solid lead. John tries to keep himself still in his chair so he doesn’t distract Charlie or make him feel rushed. It has to be close to an hour before Charlie has been through every picture. 

“This man,” he starts and coughs because his voice keeps giving out. “He looks familiar, he might not be the guy that murdered my mom but I know I have seen him somewhere before.” Sherlock thanks Charlie and praises him. 

“You still have my number right?” Sherlock asks and Charlie nods. “You call it no matter what time it is if you need help okay?”

“Okay,” Charlie says and he looks so tired that John’s heart aches for him. John knows the look in those young eyes; there are nightmares that, no matter how many times you experience them, can still terrify you enough that even the idea of sleeping seems impossible. 

“Hey Charlie,” John says as he kneels in front of the boy so they can be at eye level. “When you are having a hard time sleeping, something that really helps is to imagine you are in your favorite place. Nothing bad can happen there; it is your piece of paradise and you are completely in control of it. Do you have a place that feels like that to you?” Charlie frowns for a minute and looks at the ground before lifting his head back up and nodding. 

“Good. You think of that place before you go to sleep and you’ll be just fine.” John stands up and ruffles the boy’s hair. They say goodbye to Charlie and his father before heading back towards the street to grab a cab. 

“Why don’t you do that for your nightmares?” Sherlock asks.

“I do, but for me it doesn’t always work. Charlie is young and seems to have had only one trauma in his life. It will probably work for him, but me… well, most days it seems like my life has been nothing but trauma.”

“Surely the war didn’t seem like it’s been your whole life.” Sherlock reasons and he looks incredibly troubled by the idea. 

“I wasn’t just talking about the war,” John says and Sherlock can hear it in his voice as though the words had left his lips. The fall the fall the fall. He spins around to face him so fast they almost crash into each other. John catches himself at the last moment and stares up at him with his worried 'I’ve said too much' look.

“John, you know that I am not the type of person to regret my actions. Why should I when I think through every single logical solution and only go for the one that makes the most sense and causes the least amount of pain? But if there is one thing in my life that I truly regret it’s letting you think I was dead. The way you mourned me and the hell it put you through. If there was anything I could do, anyway to take it back, don't think for a single second I wouldn’t do it.” John looks dumbstruck, his eyes are as wide as they can go and his mouth is slightly open. Sherlock has the urge to take a picture, and he would if this wasn’t such a serious moment. 

“Right, and you know I have forgiven you for that right?” Sherlock just stares at his feet, he knows John wants to forgive him for it but he doesn’t think he really has. John’s hand tilts his face up and Sherlock feels every single thought leave his brain when the full weight of John’s gaze bores into his. 

“I forgive you, Sherlock.” There is such a sincerity in the statement and in those blue eyes that Sherlock is breathless. Sherlock tries to nod but it’s hard with John’s hand holding his chin in place like he’s worried Sherlock will break away. On the contrary Sherlock is content to stay like this all day. They are starting to lean in closer to each other and Sherlock can feel the thrumming of his heartbeat in his chest. John’s lips are so close and Sherlock finally has enough of the slow approach. He grabs John’s shoulders and pulls him hard. He captures the lips that have been plaguing him for years. The taste of tea, mint, and John floods his senses and he can’t help but groan. John’s tongue is running against the top of his mouth and he knows that he must be mewling at this point, and they are in the middle of a bloody street! It might be a less crowded one but still they must be capturing quite a bit of attention. He thought something like this would be far out of John Watson’s comfort zone but when he tries to pull away those lips just follow him. 

Any reason John still possesses shut off the moment his lips touch Sherlock’s. Even though he doesn’t smoke anymore, Sherlock tastes like ashes, and John finds himself chasing them. He can’t believe that he wasted so many years living with this man, being with him almost constantly, and yet never trying to kiss him. He’s kissed a lot of people in his life, but kissing someone has never felt like coming home. 

They jerk apart when a car horn goes off entirely too close for their liking. A cab has pulled up next to them and the leer the driver is giving them is so shameless that John waves him away. There is an awkward silence enveloping him and John is just about to say something when another cab pulls up and Sherlock folds himself inside leaving the door open.

*****  
They head to Scotland Yard and Sherlock knows John wants to talk, hell at this point even Sherlock can see the benefit in it. But there is simply no time, they need to track down Mark Enlow before the slimy bastard either kills someone else or tries to skip town. Lestrade is pacing the very minuscule space between the walls of his office when they come in and Sherlock has to keep himself from taking out his phone and screaming Mycroft into next week. They might need his assistance unfortunately and he can always do so after this dreadful case is over. Sherlock glances at John and blushes when they lock eyes because John’s already looking at him. Fuck, they can’t be doing this, even the idiots here will notice something. 

Sherlock clears his throat, “We need to put out an APB on Mark Enlow. Charlie recognized him and he does fit the profile of the killer.” Lestrade finally stops pacing and looks at them, he hasn’t slept and his nails are all bitten to the quick, and that is when Sherlock remembers. Mycroft is flying to North Korea to meet with some leaders about certain political alliances. Sherlock grits his teeth, he still isn’t sure how much Lestrade wants John to know, and since he hasn’t heard from Mycroft yet either, there isn’t much he can offer in terms of reassurance. The best he can do is solve this fucking case so maybe the DI can at least take a nap. 

“Right, thanks Sherlock,” he picks up his phone and gives the order. Outside they can hear footsteps and raised voices as the news is passed around to everyone in the Yard. Sherlock and John collapse in the chairs in front of Lestrade’s desk and it takes everything Sherlock has to keep from yelling for the DI to sit the fuck down. He rolls his neck and slumps sideways in his seat, letting his eyes slip close just for a few moments…

“Is he asleep?” Greg whisper asks John.

“I think so,” John replies, trying in vain to keep the fondness out of his voice, but the smug expression on Greg’s face tells him he is failing. Thankfully he doesn’t press the matter, so the two of them sit on the floor, as far away from Sherlock as possible without leaving the office. John knows Sherlock hasn’t slept in days and the last thing he wants is to wake him up unless they find Mark or he gets clear to take him home for the night. Cue the manic blushing at that thought, John rolls his eyes at himself.

Now they have kissed, John isn’t sure what will happen once they are back at 221B alone and without any interruptions. Sherlock may very well retreat into himself and they will go back to normal, never speaking about the kiss. John’s whole body seems to rebel against that thought and he has to take a minute just to keep himself from being sick. Christ, how in the world had he ever thought that marrying anyone besides Sherlock Holmes was a bang on idea? 

Sally rushes in without knocking just as Sherlock raises his head, hair slightly mused on the right side. 

“We’ve got him.”


	8. Hey Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was rough on the writing side thanks so much to my lovely beta @SherlockWatson_Holmes for keeping me sane

John and Sherlock rush to a squad car with Lestrade. Normally Sherlock would have put up a big fuss about riding in the back, but even he knows now is really not the time. They make it across the city in ten minutes flat, and if John wasn’t so keyed up he would probably be sick from Lestrade’s terrible driving. They have to almost crash at least five times before he starts to feel unwell; in fact he is so distracted that it takes him an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that Sherlock is holding his hand. He looks down and is hit with such a feeling of… well at this point it would be insulting to call it anything other than love. He lifts his gaze and Sherlock’s eyes are so blue. They have done this exact same stare so many times. Usually they are having a silent conversation before they go out and do something incredibly stupid and reckless. This look though is warming his belly and spreading that heat further down. John’s tongue slips out and runs across his lips and he has a sudden thrill watching Sherlock’s eyes track the movement. 

Sherlock wishes, beyond just about anything else at that moment, that they were in a cab. He can feel Lestrade’s gaze on them in the rear-view mirror and if he could pull himself away from John’s gaze he would, just to spare him from having to declare the five hundredth time that he is not gay. As though everyone hadn’t heard that enough for a lifetime. The thought is enough to at least drain some of the heat away and yet John’s gaze is still filled with desire. Sherlock squeezes his hand as hard as he dares trying to signal him to relax a bit before they end up jumping each other in the back of a bloody squad car, for Christ's sake. John still seems enthralled though, that or he just doesn’t fucking care anymore. Sherlock leans in, bypassing the mouth that seems to permanently call for him, and instead rests his mouth against John’s ear. 

“Look, I know we have a lot to figure out, but we can’t right now. Lestrade is staring at us more than the road and I already feel ill from his driving when he's giving the road his full attention. Just wait alright? We are at the last stretch and I promise when we get home we’ll talk.” John leans his head towards Sherlock and rests his mouth on Sherlock’s ear as well.

“Or we could not talk,” the huskiness in that voice is enough to have Sherlock considering jumping out of the car the moment it slows down and running on foot the rest of the way back to Baker Street, John beside him as always. He reaches for the last bit of his self control and allows himself to place a soft kiss in the place just below John’s ear. There is a soft sound, too soft for Lestrade to hear but the force of it is like someone just shot Sherlock straight in the chest with a cannonball. He pulls back and they desperately try to act like nothing is amiss the rest of the way.

Thankfully as soon as they arrive it seems as though the police are gearing up to head inside, and Lestrade is needed to coordinate. He does find a spare moment to shoot them a very smug grin and John resists the urge to hide himself in Sherlock’s shoulder, which would probably just serve to make Lestrade even more insufferable. John and Sherlock are ‘to stay on the street’ until they bring Mark out, and even as John agrees to this plan he can already tell, from the way Sherlock is bouncing on his toes, they will be moving as soon as the police are out of eye-shot. 

“What’s the plan then?” John asks because it will be infinitely easier if he has some idea of what is about to come. 

“Our guy is going to get spooked and while his friend tries to hold off the police he will slip out the back, so we are going to intercept him around the back… now.” And then he’s off, John follows close behind. It only takes a moment for John to tackle the man, Sherlock had shot right past him which is odd since he never misses like that. John just shrugs figuring he will double back quite soon. 

“Mark, I presume?”

“Actually, you presume wrong Dr. Watson. Your partner took off after Mark, name’s Ed.” The man on the ground looks smug for someone practically kissing the gravel. John suddenly feels the anxious pit in his stomach rear up so fast it takes an enormous effort to keep down his breakfast. 

He shouts for Lestrade and once the DI cuffs Ed, he runs off after Sherlock. This isn’t his 'running around the city with Sherlock, keeping up with his ridiculously long legs' run. This is his 'Sherlock might be in danger' all out run, that makes the wind bite at his face and make his eyes water with the force of his speed. He’s been down two side streets before he sees the two figures towards the opposite end of a little alley. He is panting when he runs up to them and thankfully Sherlock has the bastard by the throat demanding answers. The guy however looks all wrong and John doesn’t need Sherlock’s skills of deduction to see that. John knows better by now to interrupt Sherlock at this point in a case but there is no way this spineless git who looks afraid of his own shadow is the one killing people. It goes to show how desperately Sherlock must want this case over with that he is overlooking the evidence. 

“Sherlock,” John says as sharply as he can manage. “It’s not him, for Christ's sake, look at him.”

“Then who?” Sherlock all but growls in frustration.

“Back at the house there was another that slipped out the back, called himself Ed. I think he might be our guy.”

“That’s why it took you so long,” Sherlock muttered to himself before releasing Mark and turning his full attention back towards John. They walk back to the house, Mark following at a distance of at least five yards. Lestrade and the team are milling about when they get back, and they seem quite annoyed that Sherlock actually went after the wrong guy. John just puts up a hand to stop the complaining and waits until someone directs them to the correct squad car where Ed is currently located. Sherlock slides in next to the guy while John takes a seat in the driver's, turning himself around so he can see into the back. 

“What kind of parent names their fucking child Ed?” Sherlock asks and John has to keep himself from groaning that this is the most important question coming to the detective’s mind instead of something about you know, the serial killer antics. 

“It’s short for Edward, I just go by Ed in most circles.”

“By choice,” Sherlock says in amazed disgust, and it is rather an awful name but still not even close to the damn point.

“Ed, why are you killing people?” John finally asks since it doesn’t seem that Sherlock is ever going to be able to bring himself around enough to do it. 

“Killing people?” Ed sounds genuinely confused and John worries that maybe the whole Mark charade is actually a ploy. But then Ed continues and John has to fight off a shudder. “Oh you mean the child abusers? They aren’t really people, but they do look like them so I can understand how you might be mistaken.”

“Enough with the ‘I’m a good serial killer vigilante’ bullshit,” Sherlock says rolling his eyes.

“It isn’t bullshit, because of me none of the children in this neighborhood will ever be abused like that. They will grow up having normal childhoods and it might actually give them a half decent chance once they are adults. The way the world is, everyone needs all the help they can get. The problem is that so many of us come into adulthood already aged well beyond our years and as cynical as an undertaker digging his own grave. That’s why the suicide stats are so high; broken people being thrust into a world as broken as ours doesn’t bode very well for their futures.”

“So what, you are ridding the world of sex offenders out of the goodness of you heart?” John asks, annoyed that a damn serial killer is making more sense than most of the current world leaders. 

“Oh no, your girlfriend is pregnant, she just told you a couple months ago. You panicked because you know the sick kind of people out there in the world and with your own experiences, well you weren’t about to let that happen to your child. So you start killing all the registered sex offenders in what a five mile radius from your house?”

“I actually was going for ten but well you can see where that ended.”

“You do realize that you have now guaranteed that your kid won’t have a dad around to make sure nothing like that happens right?” John asks and Sherlock can tell even though his words are harsh, he feels bad for this guy. 

“Not to mention this boy named Charlie will grow up without his mother and probably be in therapy for the rest of his life.” Sherlock says, shoving his phone in Ed's face, showing him the photo of Charlie. He does not feel sorry for the sick freak, yes he might have been getting rid of other freaks but there is a reason why humans are not meant to play God. Sure maybe this guy didn’t get off on children but he did get off on cutting people into pieces and Sherlock is sure that is almost just as bad. Ed’s face breaks open as he stares at the picture of Charlie. There is a tear running down his face but he doesn’t say anything else. 

“I hate this fucking case,” John says as they climb out of the car and Sherlock just nods. They give some quick statements to Lestrade and John suggests ordering in from somewhere which Sherlock is all too eager to accept. He can feel exhaustion down in his bones and he worries that now the case is over he might just fall asleep in his chair as soon as they get home. 

John calls their usual while they are still in the cab and thankfully food arrives practically when they do. He manages to make it through the meal and when he stands up to go take a shower he suddenly finds himself against a wall with John leering at him from the front. 

“Yes, John?” Sherlock asks, he doesn’t want to beat around the bush now.

“The case is over, I just thought you seem rather tired and well, need some help with the shower?” Once again John has surprised him since that wasn’t even something he had considered, and in their free moments on the case he had thought of little other than John. 

“I don’t need any assistance in the shower John,” which causes a sad expression to appear on the doctor’s face until Sherlock continues. “But I wouldn’t mind the company.” John gives him the full hundred megawatt smile that always sends Sherlock’s pulse racing and suddenly he feels like he could stay up the entire night as long as John is right there with him. 

They start removing the other’s clothes as they stumble their way to the bathroom and Sherlock finds it rather amusing that they are getting completely naked when they haven’t even kissed since the street. John looks at him with a question in his eyes but Sherlock only shakes his head and tosses John’s belt on the kitchen table with a flourish. Once they are in the bathroom they both only have their pants left on, which Sherlock removes while John turns on the water. 

John has to take dragon breaths when he turns around, once he is sure the water is a good temperature. Sherlock Holmes is naked, and staring at him through heavy lidded eyes that are tracking up and down John’s body in such a way he almost feels like they are touching his skin. He finds his knees have gone weak and is entirely certain that he is about to sprawl out on the floor. Sherlock though, seems calm as he walks up to him and finally, after this long horrid day, claims those lips as though they have belonged to him for years. In a way John guesses they have, that all of him has belonged to Sherlock Holmes since, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” It’s only that his brain took years to catch up, and he tries to convey the feeling as he kisses him back. He wraps his arms around Sherlock’s neck and has the ridiculous urge to climb the man like a tree, he holds back just barely. The kiss seems to last an age and John can feel his lips tingling. Sherlock draws away and checks the water, the grin he sends John’s way can only be described as feral. 

“Still hot, come on.” Sherlock climbs in and of course John follows.


	9. Let's Shower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am evil for how I left you at the end of chapter 8. I hope this makes up for it though ;) All my love to my beta @SherlockWatson_Holmes

The water in the shower is still hot enough to slightly burn when it hits their skin. John smiles because, as annoying as it is having Sherlock deduce him, there are certain perks to it. Sherlock knows things about him such as the perfect placement of a teacup so that he can reach it when working but not knock it over. He knows that John needs the reassurance that he is alive but he never comments on it. In so many ways Sherlock gives him exactly what he needs and he realizes that this is how a relationship should work. That train of thought is depressing in a way because it is obvious, now that he thinks about it, that he has been in a relationship with Sherlock for years. 

The man in question is currently doing the things you are supposed to do in the shower, like rinsing out the shampoo in his hair. His eyes are closed and the water is cascading down his body in perfect rivulets and John can’t help but lick a line from Sherlock’s chest up to his mouth. Sherlock’s breath hitches and it is like a switch has been thrown, suddenly John is pressed against the shower wall, Sherlock’s eyes blazing as they stare at him. It seems that there must still be a lingering expression of the thoughts about their relationships because his face softens just a bit. 

Sherlock can see the deep thoughts in the set of John’s eyes and it will probably be something they talk about at length later on down the road… but not now. Sherlock steps into the little space between John’s legs and even though Sherlock knows he is taller, it never seems that way. John takes up so much space in his world, and mind, that he always seems to be nine feet tall. Sherlock doesn’t believe in superheroes or angels but if he ever entertained the idea, well, John is always the image that appears. Now though, he can feel himself towering over John and it sends a shiver up his spine. John is tilting his head slightly to look up at him and Sherlock is so caught up in his eyes that he doesn’t even realize John’s hands have moved to grab his shoulders. John twists them expertly, even with the water still beating down, and Sherlock’s arousal demands attention. 

He never really had a partner before that he could truly let himself go with, therefore he normally liked to stay in control, so it is a little bit of a shock to see the very enthusiastic response his body has to John taking charge. John smiles at him in the most wicked way that Sherlock has ever seen. He leans in, and Sherlock starts to close his eyes… which fly quickly open again when he feels teeth pulling, none too gently, at his nipple. John looks incredibly pleased with himself, and Sherlock is getting rather annoyed about it. He reaches around the back of John’s neck and brings their lips together. 

Oh fuck. This is what kissing is supposed to feel like; as if your entire soul is being sucked out of your body. John knew Sherlock would be good at this, the man can literally deduce anything about anyone - including the fact that John really likes it when a someone does… fuck… that! 

Sherlock has finally coaxed John’s tongue into his mouth and now is sucking on it in a way that has his cock saluting. John can feel a grin trying to break out on Sherlock’s face and it is so frustrating that someone who claims everything is transport can be so fucking good at making him lose his damn mind. 

Sherlock is enjoying this far too much. In the past, whenever he would let himself indulge in sex, he always found that reducing his partner to a wordless bundle of fried nerves gave him almost more satisfaction than his own orgasm. Although he has never had anyone do the same back to him before now. John’s hands are beginning to travel lower over Sherlock’s backside and oh God!. He feels a slick finger pushing at his entrance as their mouths stay joined, nipping and pulling at the others lips. The moan that is dragged out of his throat when John’s finger slips in would be enough to make a nun question her commitment. When Sherlock looks into John’s eyes they are so dark that he can barely see any blue at all. 

Frustrated with the usual pitfalls of shower sex, Sherlock bends to whisper in John’s ear, “Bed now.” John’s entire body shakes and Sherlock has never been more thankful for his voice than in that moment.

“I’ll meet you there, I need a minute,” John says with a soft smile which Sherlock licks at before leaving the shower and entering his own bedroom; he has the bigger bed. Besides, climbing the stairs with a raging hard on wouldn’t be particularly fun. He grabs some lube from the nightstand before lying down on his Egyptian cotton sheets and spreading his legs; might as well give John something to look at when he comes in. Sherlock uncaps the lube and slicks up his fingers. He is a little shocked at the anticipation he feels, he has had sex before, even amazing sex, but other than someone’s appearance Sherlock has never gone home with someone he likes for who they are. He never really got to know people well enough to care. In a way this is almost more frightening than chasing a criminal through the streets of London. If there is anything that truly scares him it is living a life without John Watson. Strike that - it wouldn’t be a life at all, he would simply be existing. He pushes past the doubts circling his mind; John wants him and he is sick to death of denying that he wants him, too. He presses at his entrance and just as the ring of muscle is relaxing and allowing his fingers access, the door opens and John walks in. 

“Holy fuck,” John says, his hair is wet, little droplets of water run down his chest and Sherlock would lick him dry if he wasn’t otherwise occupied. The look that John is giving him is something that Sherlock will never forget, even if he didn’t have a mind palace to store the memory in. John’s jaw is slack, his eyes are wide, and he is looking at Sherlock like he is everything he’s ever dreamed of, on a silver platter. 

“Are you just going to stand there all night?” Sherlock asks between breathy moans. John is silent as he makes his way towards the bed, he is moving so slowly because he can’t take his eyes off Sherlock for even a moment. When he gets to the end of the bed, and very carefully crawls his way on, he settles himself right between Sherlock’s legs. He puts his hands and Sherlock’s knees and pushes, just the slightest bit, to open him up more. 

“Bloody Christ, if you could see yourself,” John breathes, trying to gain enough composure to take over. Sherlock must see his intention in his face because he shakes his head.

“Next time, but right now I would rather just have your cock.” John panics, he feels a tightening in his balls and has to wrap his fingers at the very base of his cock to stave off an orgasm. He opens his eyes after a few deep breaths, to find Sherlock leaning up on his elbows and smirking at him like the cat that got the cream.

“That is an experiment we will have to try,” Sherlock hums.

“What?”

“How fast I can make you come from my voice alone.” 

“Sherlock, if you want me to fuck you then I suggest you stop talking.” Sherlock chuckles at that and wishes he could bottle up John’s voice and carry it with him always. John manages to slip two fingers in without any problem, and hears the hitch in Sherlock’s throat as he turns from laughing to gasping. 

“Christ,” Sherlock moans as John crooks his fingers and finds his prostate. 

“Close, but not quite.” 

Sherlock groans as he recognizes the line as his own. Sometimes he thinks he has created a monster but most of the time he’s… proud. 

“John, come on.” Sherlock demands. And yes, John is ready to stop the teasing now too, so he reaches for a condom and the bottle lube, surprised by the sudden grab of a hand on his wrist. 

“Are you clean?” Sherlock asks.

“Yes, but still Sherlock, it’s better…” He trails off as he watches Sherlock grab the condom from his fingers and fling it across the room.’

“I trust you.” Sherlock punctuates this by leaning down and licking his cock from tip to root. He lets his tongue linger on the bumps and veins. John is feeling a bit like he is Sherlock’s favorite flavored lolly. The thought should make him feel a bit ridiculous but Sherlock’s tongue is pushing at his slit and he doesn’t care about anything else. Sherlock pulls away and opens up the lube. He takes the rather wet cock and slicks it up even more, taking his time to make sure he cover every last inch. John finally growls at him and pins him down. He claims his mouth and uses his left hand to slowly guide himself inside. The feeling of being fully inside Sherlock Holmes is what John imagines heaven would feel like. He isn’t moving, just letting Sherlock adjust and truly basking in this moment. He wishes they had gotten to this point sooner but they are here now and that is really all that matters.

“John, move please.” John circles his hips and thrusts in tiny jabs. Sherlock raises his hips and pushes back and they soon form a rhythm and God fucking Christ, this is going to be over far too soon. Sherlock is incredibly tight and obscenely enthusiastic. The noise he’s making is so close to pushing John over the edge and he is past the point of being able to even think. 

Sherlock is in the same state, and the last remaining part of his logical mind flies out the door the moment he feels John’s hand wrap about his cock. He is hitting his prostate with every single thrust now and it only takes a not so gentle bit to his neck, and a swipe of his fingers over the slit of his cock, before he is coming. 

The way Sherlock’s body tightens around him when he comes, the expression of pure bliss on the detectives face, is so fucking hot that John follows him right after, pulsing his release inside Sherlock’s pliant body. He tries to pull out slowly, but Sherlock’s legs wrap around his waist and keep him inside. 

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John’s voice is so broken and he doesn’t even care what he sounds like. It feels like he came for hours but it can’t be more than a minute. He must black out for a few seconds because when he comes to Sherlock has moved them to their sides and he is stroking John’s chest. 

John will never admit to it, will protect this little bit of himself and his more questionable actions to his dying day, but when he thought Sherlock was dead, he would lie down in this bed with his face buried in a pillow that still held a small bit of the detective’s scent. The fact that he would wake up in that bed harder than he could ever remember being should have been a tip off, but John’s head had been in a fog so thick nothing could pierce through it. Thinking on it now, he figures his heart and mind had worked together to keep him sane. If he had realized that he was in love with Sherlock Holmes back when the man was supposedly dead, John wouldn’t be here with the man now. 

There is a smile on Sherlock’s face that speaks of so much peace and happiness that it almost stops his heart in his chest. He can’t believe that the guy who will climb up the walls if he hasn’t had a case in four hours, is the same one lying next to him after having mind blowing sex and cuddling. Sherlock bloody Holmes is cuddling, and John really doesn’t have any words for that. 

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Sherlock says, but he is still smiling. 

“Sorry, just kinda hard to believe.”

“Why? Because of the whole ‘caring is not an advantage thing?’” 

“Exactly because of that.”

“Yes, well, that’s Mycroft’s line not mine. Maybe I bought into that for a long time but not anymore. John, you make me stronger. I couldn’t do any of this without you.” John can feel the tears threatening to well up in his eyes, because this keeps sounding more and more like a love confession. Sherlock brushes his fingers against John’s cheeks and he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is desperately in love with this man. He doesn’t say it though, only because he would rather show it. 

And he does. All night long.


	10. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, it's the final chapter. Thank you so much to those of you who have been reading this entire time. Also Mystrade decided they needed a bit more attention than I gave them so be prepared to be hit over the head with that lol. Once again all the gratitude in the world to my beta @SherlockWatson_Holmes.

John feels like he is doing the most embarrassing walk of shame ever and it’s stupid considering that he isn’t a damn college student anymore. It seems as though the entirety of Scotland Yard is shirking their paperwork just to watch them walk to Lestrade’s office. And yeah they're holding fucking hands so sue them. They hadn’t even meant to but it must have happened sometime when they got out the cab. John isn’t even sure who grabbed who’s hand first only that he’s not letting go. 

Lestrade’s door is closed and John is just about to raise his hand to knock when Sherlock just pushes the door open, John sighs and marches in only to stop short at the sight that greets them. Mycroft is sitting on top of Lestrade’s desk moaning and John is filled with unbridled horror when he sees a bit of silver hair moving between his legs. He looks over at Sherlock and the expression on his face is the kind that the actors in the horror movies wish they could make. John herds him out of the office as quickly as possible shutting the door without making a sound. 

“I don’t think anyone cares about the hand holding,” John finally says.

“Obviously,” Sherlock intones but he still looks so horrified that John can’t help but feel a bit bad for him. 

“Come on, let’s go home. Lestrade can bloody well come over if he wants the more detailed account.”

“Right,” Sherlock says distractedly. They walk back out so soon they end up in the exact same cab that they had on the way there. 

“John.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s not mention what we just saw ever again… well unless it’s to tease Mycroft.”

“Right,” John says, still trying to keep the images of… whatever that was at bay. 

“I can try teaching you how to delete it if you wish,” Sherlock offers. 

“No, it’s alright. I’ll just make sure to never look your brother in the eye ever again.” Sherlock starts chuckling and John can’t help but join in. They are somewhat settled once they get back to the flat, but Mycroft sitting on the couch looking impeccable as always sends them through a fresh fit of laughter. Mycroft honest to god blushes, which will surely become the ninth wonder of the world if only because it’s that damn surprising. 

“What brings you here, brother dear?”

“Well, Greg didn’t hear you come in but of course I did.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows raise in his typical ‘obviously’ way. 

“I figured it would be easier for me to come here and get your detailed statements for the case since Greg is let’s just say indisposed for the rest of the day.” And oh no, Mycroft’s lips twitch in a slight smirk when he finishes and John cannot handle bloody Mycroft talking in innuendo. Sherlock’s face is paling rather remarkably and that just makes John’s decision easier.

“Mycroft if Lestrade wants our damn statements so bad he can bloody well come here himself. Rather than sending his recent conquest, alright?”

Mycroft’s face becomes his usual scowl but he seems to see something in John’s face that tells him he will not refrain from tossing him bodily out.

“Very well, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft walks towards the door and turns back one last time when he reaches the doorway. 

“Oh and congratulations boys, it is about time.”

“About time for what?” Sherlock asks, sounding miffed. Mycroft doesn’t bother responding, just runs his eyes between the two of them and smiles before leaving.

“How could he possibly know?” John asks because he really doesn’t see any way that Mycroft could just look at them and be able to tell. 

“He can smell it on us.”

“Are you serious?”

“Oh come on John, surely even you noticed him flaring his nostrils like a bloody dragon.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I just thought it was his displeasure at your refusal more than anything else.”

“It was partly that… My, you are beginning to pay attention, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock is looking at him full on and holy christ. Sherlock’s collar is of course turned up and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. The sun coming through the window is reflecting off the mirror above the fireplace and it’s causing an effect that makes Sherlock look like a fallen angel. 

“John?” Sherlock calls and he shakes himself out of a particular wicked fantasy involving the kitchen table and a set of Sherlock’s scalpels. 

“Hmm?” He finally brings his eyes to Sherlock’s face and his whole body is snapped back into awareness. Sherlock looks more unsure than John has ever seen him and he finds himself across the room and gripping Sherlock’s arms tightly. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get pregnant John.” 

“Well I would bloody hope not Sherlock, christ you’d be a nightmare. Besides I like you how you are.” He emphasizes this by fusing their bodies together and grinding slightly. Sherlock still has a frown but his eyes are just slightly starting to glaze. 

“Yeah, but John I can’t give you children, or any semblance of a normal life, or even a home.” John’s heart is breaking just to hear Sherlock think that any of those things actually matter. He tilts that gorgeous head up and smiles. 

“Sherlock, I don’t really care for kids, we both know that I am shit at normal life, and most importantly you are my home. Whenever you are that is where I want to be. Alright?”

“Alright,” Sherlock agrees in a whisper so low that John wouldn’t have heard it if they weren’t basically on top of each other. Without any kind of warning Sherlock throws John over his shoulder and heads towards his bedroom. 

“I am not a damn sack of potatoes.” Sherlock just chuckles as he throws on the bed, turns on his radio that he hardly ever uses and begins what could only be called a strip tease. Sherlock bloody Holmes is strip teasing to Cheat Codes. John has to pinch himself to make sure he’s awake then he leans over slightly to make sure there isn’t a damn pit to hell that's opened up. Sherlock has the rest of the buttons on his shirt open and he’s slipping out of it like it’s water rather than silk. John’s mouth is dry and he finds himself licking his lips trying to just fuck.

Sherlock is having to put an extraordinary amount of control into not smirking because the look on John’s face is awestruck. His eyes are wide, mouth slightly open and the tongue that drives Sherlock wild keeps coming out to lick, and god he wants to rush but that’s not the point here. Last night was rushed because of the lust, tonight he wants it slower, to linger and reveal in it. He slips his belt off slowly making a big production of passing it through each loop. Once it’s off he snaps it loudly and sees the way John’s eyes darken even further. Oh, the doctor might like to spank. Sherlock files that away for another time. His breath is heavy by the time he brings his fingers to his fly. The room is so silent that the sound of the zipper is like a bomb going off. He lets them fall on their own as he slowly makes his way towards the bed not letting his eyes leave John’s even for a moment. 

John’s not breathing, he stopped when Sherlock snapped the belt. He can just imagine being spread out over the man’s lap naked from the waist down. He never likes to admit it but there is a small part of him that aches to relinquish control and just to let someone do with him as they will. But he has never trusted anyone enough at least not until now, and damn, it’s suddenly all he wants. He snaps back to the present and Sherlock is moving towards him, a fire burning in his eyes. John can feel flames on his skin and he has never in his life felt this alive. When Sherlock reaches him, his hands immediately go to the bottom of John’s jumper to pull it off. John’s hands catch his and Sherlock looks at him confused. 

“I just, I want you too…” He trails off because he isn’t quite sure how to put it into words. Sherlock must read it on his face though because the eyebrows are almost reaching the hair line and Sherlock’s eyes are so damn wide. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” and well there really isn’t anything more to be said on it. John is undressed in record time. Sherlock’s tease has both of them practically foaming at the mouth. Sherlock starts by kissing John’s forehead which makes both of them giggle. He licks his left ear, soft moans escape the infuriating mouth that Sherlock moves to next. He starts with just a chaste kiss and lets John chase his lips as he pulls back a little before claiming John’s mouth in a searing kiss. He runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth mimicking the techniques that John did to him. There is a whimper that makes his cock twitch. The kiss has so much teeth that when Sherlock tastes blood he isn’t sure which mouth it came from. He sucks on John’s tongue before roughly pulling away and biting right at his pulse point. John arches into it so beautifully that Sherlock almost wishes he could paint. This is one of those sights that should be forever immortalized on a canvas. He begins sucking because fuck it, if John is truly his then he is going to make sure that everyone knows it. When he finally deems it done, he moves down to John’s chest making sure to slide his body down John’s just to hear him gasp. Sherlock licks at each of the nipples, sucking and pulling. He brings one of his hands up to John’s mouth and looks up to make sure he gets the idea. The first feel of that tongue sucking on his fingers like it’s his… well Sherlock is ready to stop pulling punches and get right down to it. He licks the tip of John’s cock, and the full body shiver that results is quite satisfying to say the least. He pulls his fingers back from John, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. 

He looks up at John with a question on his face but then realizes that John just wants them to move around a bit. He swings his body around and lays on his side facing John. 69, one of the better things that the human race managed to come up with. Sherlock laps at John’s cock while he lets his finger circle his perineum. John however is done with teasing and takes Sherlock’s cock down almost to the root. Sherlock wishes he could scream cause holy fucking shit. He decides to pay it back in kind. He sinks in two fingers and deep throats John at the same time. He can feel John moaning around his cock and it’s so damn good. Sherlock wants to stay like this forever, he is at least eight-five percent sure that he will never get bored of this. 

John is sucking Sherlock Holmes cock and the pleasant tingle throughout his body at the thought is addictive. Those talented long fingers are in his ass, and he wants to worship the violin because my god the calluses rubbing against his prostate is the best feeling in the world. Or maybe the second considering he hasn’t had Sherlock’s cock yet. 

“Sherlock, please I need you inside.” John’s voice is hoarse and he knows he might not have one at all tomorrow. Sherlock moves up to him and they kiss, his hand reaching over to grab the lube from the nightstand. They slick up Sherlock together, four hands moving on that beautiful cock still wet from being in John’s mouth. Sherlock lines up and pushes in so slowly, that John feels tears threatening to spill. He feels like he is the most precious thing in the world with the way Sherlock is treating him and the way he’s looking at him. Fuck, he can’t believe he was in the dark for so long. Sherlock has looked at him like this before, he knows he has. Sherlock just thought that he didn’t see him. John locks his arms around Sherlock’s neck and pulls him down into a long passionate kiss. John’s head goes fuzzy and he can feel Sherlock’s legs trembling.

“Come on,” John says rocking up into him and oh fuck that is it. John can tell the moment that Sherlock switches to needing to pound and it will be the first thing that John sees anytime he’s jerking off. 

“John, I need, fuck I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sherlock you won’t hurt me. Just fucking move.” He does, he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in with such force that it almost feels as though he’s reaching all the way into John’s head. It feels so good, Sherlock of course has pinpointed the exact location of his prostate and he is hitting it relentlessly. Sherlock’s hand is suddenly on his cock and John’s knows he's going to come like a shot. 

Sherlock must be losing his mind because for the first time, he isn’t deducing every little thing. All he can think about is John, love, and the tight heat that is surrounding him. John’s whimpers are more beautiful to him than any song he could play on his violin. His hand finds John’s cock and he strokes in time to the thrusts and this is going to be over far too soon. But they can always go again and again and again. John comes first with a shout, "Sherlock!"

"John", Sherlock all but screams and he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even spare a thought about Mrs. Hudson hearing them. He comes for so long that it almost seems as though it will never end and that this is how Sherlock Holmes will finally die. Coming inside John Watson for eternity, damn good way to go. It finally must subside though and when he blinks his eyes open he finds John staring at him, the softest smile on his face. Sherlock pulls out as slowly as he can manage and grabs a washcloth that he keeps in his bedside table. He cleans John first making sure to be as thorough as possible before giving himself a courtesy swipe. He nudges his way onto John’s chest and hums when he feels a hand in his hair. 

“I stand by the cat comparison.” 

“You know you are too, right?”

“I am also like a cat?” John asks in complete confusion.

Sherlock looks up at him and his face is the most unguarded that John has ever seen outside of sex. “No, John, you are home for me too.” John’s breath catches and he knows that this is probably the closet to a love confession he will ever get. He kisses the world’s only consulting detective, his best friend, the love of his life, his home. He falls asleep with a smile on his face and the nightmares never come back.


End file.
